


Scullyverse Ficlets

by nicasio_silang



Category: Supernatural, The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Not actually crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 00:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17714795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicasio_silang/pseuds/nicasio_silang
Summary: Almost nine years ago some friends and I spent a beautiful couple of days or months writing towards a canon for a theoretically perfect pairing: Dana Scully and Castiel. Or, at least, Castiel as of whatever season it was in April of 2010. I'm reposting my small contributions here mainly for my own sake, since they're some of my favorite things I've written.





	1. Chronicles/Acts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time travel is as good a first date idea as anything.

She can feel the dim impression of his fingertips between her brows the way she'd feel the lingering of the host on her tongue long after the Eucharist.

And now, right now, ten rows down and kneeling, she can see herself. Flanked by her siblings, all of eight years old, accepting the sacrament with closed eyes and full heart. She remembers the feeling, the one that's on her small face.

"Oh," she says, and turns and brushes quickly past the angel, as quickly as she can, out the door, down the steps, into the street, around the corner, to where he's already waiting.

He looks like just any guy. But they always do, she knows by now.

"Uh," he says, and it's so fucking normal. She laughs without smiling.

"This is ridiculous," she says. "This isn't how it works." He cocks his head and fixes her with a look that calls to mind eerily, horribly, her sister. The look like he thinks she's deceiving herself.

"Tell me how it works," he says.

He begins to walk down the street, and seems to trust she'll keep up. She only does because she hasn't been here in years. It's outside the base, almost five miles away. They'd had to drive every Sunday. Today, they meander slowly. Magnolias are in bloom.

"How I'd prefer it to work would include a team of specialists. In God-knows-what," which gets a laugh. "Some genetic samples. Every kind of photography and radiography knows to man."

"Am I that unbelievable?" He tucks a fall of hair behind her ear, but by the time she glances over he's got both hands in his pockets.

"No." She recognizes a crack in the sidewalk. "No. But I've become so..."

"I think I know what you mean," he says.

Scully pivots in front of him and stops to study his face. Not his face. It was explained, but holding the duality makes her feel all of a child again, trying and trying to hold the Trinity in the grasp of small, weak hands. Slipping.

"I never needed this sort of proof," she says. It hurts on the way out. She fingers the shoulder-flap of his trench coat, then lets her hand drop. "I never wanted it. The mystery was easier. But you talk about your Father as if He could be anyone. I need Him to be more."

"Yeah," he says, "Well." He puts a loose arm around her shoulders, angular and underfed. Starts up walking again and steers them towards the ice cream parlor that she knows is two blocks down. "That makes two of us."


	2. Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas doesn't have a solid concept of "us time."

Out the window and to the east is a siren. It’s carried in on a breeze that chills the sweat in the corners of her elbows, the space behind her ears, the backs of her knees where he’s holding her open, the long line of her spine curving on and off the kitchen table. Castiel smooths the edge of a palm up the inside of her leg to cup the hollow where her thigh meets her hip. He’s watching the dip from her mouth to her chin as he slips the pad of a thumb slick inside her.

Scully wants to be watched. One of those things she tries to tell men without telling them. She wants a witness.

Castiel is less still than he seems. There is the force of hot breath among her pubic hair, ghosting cooler and low across her belly. There is the hand clasped around her knee, a rhythmic tighten and release, blunt nails jumping back and forth across a tendon. There are his eyes on the heave of her breasts, the turn of her neck, meeting her when she glances down at him. Mischief.

He rests a cheek on the softness of her thigh and keeps her gaze. Dips forward to nose at her clit before setting in with slow, firm, indulgent swipes of his tongue. It’s not nearly enough and she clutches at the table's edge. In a moment, she’ll fist her hand in his hair, but she gives him some time.

He pushes in easily with two fingers, long and curving. She exhales with an ah and feels him huff a breath against her. He closes his eyes and laves at her, moves his hand into a steady pace. It’s a Tuesday night. There’s nothing she needs to do before tomorrow. Scully pushes back, but what she means is Yes, no rush.

She could swear she feels something start to vibrate and has half a moment to think _Oh, that is just absurd._ Then everything has paused while Castiel wipes a sleeve across his mouth. He’s holding a cell phone and saying, “I have to take this.”

“Excuse me?” Scully props herself up on her elbows, suddenly just a woman farcically naked on her own kitchen table. He’s sitting up military straight and drumming two fingers against her vulva like it’s something he’s going to get back to any moment now.

“Yes,” he says into the phone. “No, there was nothing there. Where are you?”

“Um, wow.” She moves his hand and slips off the table, clammy feet on cold tile. He seems to want to talk to her with his eyes. She widens hers to clearly communicate _Are you fucking serious._

“Don’t go in there, Dean. No.” He brushes the knuckles of one hand against her knee. She crosses her ankles and leans back against the table’s edge, going for casual. “Because I’m telling you not to.”

Castiel looks up at her with a long-suffering shake of the head. Scully crosses her arms against her chest and parodies commiseration.

“Fine,” he just keeps going. “Go on without me. Be sure to give everyone my regards in Heaven. When you’re dead.”

“I’m going to get dressed,” she says, and wanders to her sweater, flung over the couch in her living room. Through the open door she can hear _Yes, I think your imminent death is hilarious._


	3. Exodus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And, finally, the one where Scully's boyfriend is kind of a jerk.

When she kicks the both of them out of an autopsy room late one Saturday night (she is never going to call this Date Night), Castiel doesn't immediately flutter off, and Mulder takes that as carte blanche to be a dick about the whole thing.

"So," Mulder stretches his legs out and slouches into the molded plastic chair. "Were you the lucky guy who got to tell Abraham that God was just joking about the whole murdering his kid deal?"

Castiel is facing away, down the hall, and there follows a silence long enough for Mulder to consider that Castiel may sincerely be pretending he's not there. He's just filing that away in the "your boyfriend is kind of a jerk" folder when he hears the reply.

"You've got the wrong angel for a debate on divine morality."

He doesn’t bother to take the few steps between them, and is rather just sitting beside Mulder immediately. Scully’s sworn up and down that Castiel doesn’t normally just flit around rooms like that, and is probably doing it to fuck with him. Thus, Mulder holds a straight face and spreads his palms expansively.

“Just trying to make conversation.”

From past the double doors behind them drift wet, sloppy sounds, and metal click-clacks. Castiel smooths his hands over his knees. Mulder sees dirt under his fingernails.

“I can remember,” Castiel says. “The catch in his voice. Telling Isaac to close his eyes. When Michael banished our brother from the light, he sounded much the same.” Mulder raises both eyebrows at once.

“Unless Isaac had a serial killing hobby that I’m unaware of, that’s kind of an unfair comparison. Some poor kid and Satan.”

“They’re not the ones I was comparing. Who’s saved, who’s condemned, I have no idea why.” Mulder snorts because, well, obviously. Castiel pretends not to notice. “But we all go to it willingly, that much never changes. Angels. Men. We were built for sacrifice.”

Behind the door, organs are being weighed, measured. Blood is smearing. On a table, on an altar, Scully has her hands inside the animal parts of a man.

“I don’t believe that,” says Mulder. And all evidence to the contrary, it’s true.

“Believe whatever you like,” says Castiel. “Because when the time comes and you’re asked to commit some vile, abhorrent act. To do this thing for all the right reasons. You will, at the very least, raise the knife and prepare yourself to try.”


End file.
